Lumiére
by Nonochuday
Summary: "This is Winry; both my cancer and my saviour."


**A/N:** Okay! It's finally up! Thank the Lord...

 **Disclaimer:** I do not in any way own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did however, we'd all probably be crying at my poor writing skills.

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I didn't know what that gnawing sensation was at first. I assumed it was just my inner turmoil telling me to just drop everything and run before things got worse again; that I shouldn't stick around and watch everything I love and care about get ripped apart in front of my eyes. After that day, I discovered that hope lies and I found solitude in the darkness at the back of my mind. With my mother buried, not quite as deep as my guilt, I was left with the mental and physical scars to forever haunt me and the responsibility of my younger brother. I pushed everyone away that tried to tie some sort of relationship with me, keeping them at arm's length.

But this girl standing in my kitchen, back turned and spatula in hand as she makes our breakfast, has changed everything. She has yet to realise I'm standing a few feet behind her waiting to finish my errand of setting the table. The musing sound of 'do's' and 'da's' that leave her lips in a beautiful hum captivate and distract me long enough before I realise I'm staring as I listen to the slow, melancholy-filled tune that unfortunately reminds me of a childhood lullaby.

The wistful melody abruptly halts as she turns, surprised to see me; the smile that was blissfully painted across her face, fading slightly. Those mesmerising cerulean eyes that have my attention don't spare me the look of confusion and worry. For a second, I was bound in that look, once again reminded of my mother and how she would make that face when I had come home, crying as I pointed to a trivial scratch on my elbow.

My eyebrows furrowed together like a knitted scarf as I delved deeper into my self-hatred. That is until I was pulled out of my reverie at the gentle call of what sounded like my name. The look of doubt still plastered her face as she tried to scrutinize the problem behind my eyes.

"Edward…?"

Oh Winry, why did I have to help you last night? Why did you have to cry on my shoulder and then drink yourself into oblivion to forget everything? You shouldn't be here, here with me. I only helped her last night because her Grandmother had passed away and I can sympathise with that. This girl insisted that we become friends; always smiling like a fool and trying to make me laugh, inviting me out with Al and herself. I had made countless attempts to fend her off but she always comes back with an excuse saying that I need to live a little and be with everyone else, like a _normal_ teenager. I'm not _normal_. She still doesn't get it though. After I told her my story last night, all she did was cry. She didn't apologise like the small handful of people that I've told. When I had finally asked her why on Earth _she_ was the one crying, she told me it was because _I_ _didn't_.

She cried because my mother died, because my so-called father disappeared one day without so much as a 'goodbye' and because I was left alone in this god forsaken world with nothing but my beloved brother. Winry's grandmother, Pinako, was the woman who took charge in my emergency automail operation to replace my arm and leg. But I'll never tell her that, I don't have the heart to. She was so broken down and distraught last night, and yet here she is, making pancakes in my kitchen as if last night's episode never happened. I was unaware that my face was still pulled into a frown when she called for me again.

How does she do it? For weeks now she has clung to me like a flea would to a dog and yet…  
 _How_?  
She never knew about my childhood and how I got my automail until last night, so why? Why did she care before? Why was she so tenacious about me? But that's just it; that's just Winry. She doesn't pretend people's problems are non-existent simply because she doesn't know the details. Winry knew there was a story I was reluctant to tell but she never pressed for the answer.

This is Winry; both my cancer and my saviour. These never before seen interactions on her behalf are changing my mind state and attitudes towards people rapidly.

"Edward, what's wrong? Do you feel unwell?" she asks, as if talking to a small child.

What's wrong? What's wrong is that I don't fucking understand you, or myself for that matter. Why do you care? Why do _I_ care? This isn't about you, Winry. She seemed a little bit annoyed that I had yet to answer her, instead I continued to don my frown- a face that seemed almost second nature to me. She was really starting to piss me off and I wasn't sure why, she was only asking if I was okay. Once again the spotlight is on me. Winry continued to hold my gaze as she impatiently waited for my retort. She deserves a reply at least.

My face loosened a fraction as I licked my lips preparing a response. If I tell her it's nothing she won't believe me, but I don't want to talk about my problem with her that I can't seem to comprehend. I don't hate her that's for sure, but I'm uncertain whether I like her or not. She's annoying, loud and too damn happy all the time. Not to mention persistent. But she's the only one who seems to talk on the same level as me, aside from Alphonse of course. Everyone else seems to pity or look down on me; Ling, Jean, Alex, I see them all do it, even Roy. They all have that same look in their eyes. But with Winry, it's like we have our own language, one that no one else can decipher. She tells me that I need to give up on the past and keep looking forward; but how do you forget something like _killing_ _your mother?_

' _Everyone trips and falls, Edward. It's just your job to get back up…'_

That's what she told me last night; ' _learn to say goodbye.', 'learn to love yourself, 'forgive and forget.'_ She makes it sound so simple too. Yeah, because being held solely responsible for your mother's demise is so easy to just get up and walk away from.

' _Everyone trips and falls, Edward…'_

It's not that simple…

' _Everyone…'_

It's so much more complicated than that…

Don't you see? Band-Aids don't fix bullet holes. This isn't something I can fix just by forgiving myself. It takes more than that. Much, much more. With Winry invariably spitting me her advice, part of me wants to believe that what she is saying is true, but it can't be. It can't. Mum died because I wasn't there for her when she needed me. I was too busy running around the creek with Alphonse like an impudent and insolent child to see it. The creek was a place of entertainment to us when we were at the peak of our adventurous stage. We would visit in the early afternoon to collect frogs, seeing who could catch the biggest. Witnessing mums joyous and jubilant expression when we came running home, laughing at what seemed like an impossible rate; that's what I loved. You could actually see the pride in her eyes, even if it was over some mucus-covered creek frogs.

The light in her eyes died not too long after. That Sunday afternoon we found them to be as bare and barren as the produce at the local fish market. Alphonse and I just stood there for a while when we first found her. Lying there, doubled over like that, soundless with apples scattered like stars in the night sky. I knew she was gone. So did Al. I only found out after I heard his wails as he made a desperate escape out the front door as if Hell itself was at his heels. I didn't know where he was going but I followed him after one more look at the carrion that was my dear mother.

I shadowed Alphonse as he ran though the long, dry grass that was almost a duplicate to the morning sun, his golden hair adding to the task of keeping him in sight. He was fast for a four year old, that I can remember. I never really paid attention to detail on where we were going as my mind was racing a million miles an hour. He eventually ended up at the railway line, running towards the station when I finally started to catch up to him. The worst mistake I made that time was stopping to catch my breath. Hands on knees and head down, I struggled. Feeling the Earth tremor ever so slightly under me stole my attention all too quickly. Seeing the pebbles rattle and bounce beneath my feet was not a comforting sight. My breath hitched in my throat and my voice quavered when I yelled for my brother. Even if it did reach he ears, I doubt he would have stopped to listen.

Cranking my head to the left, my pupils shrunk with dread. Fear struck me like an arrow to the chest and spread like wildfire. The mere sight of the huge, black locomotive was enough to leave me gasping for air. Finally being able to move my feet I fled towards Alphonse, screaming his name in a mantra. I pleaded for him to turn and see what awaited us only a few hundred metres away but to also run as far as his legs could take him. My prayers had been answered after I called him again and he shrieked in dismay. We must have been thinking the same thing because we both headed for the platform. By the time I reached him, Al had spent a good fifteen seconds trying to ascend the wall. My first objective was to push him up and over then get myself aloft. My eyes darted back to my oncoming demise for what seemed like an infinite amount of times, as it ate up the distance between us.

As the monstrous freight train inched its way closer to me, my heart rate accelerated to infinity. I kept barking orders at Al to hurry as my strength was wearing thin. I think I was only able to get him on the platform thanks to the mad adrenalin rush coursing through my veins. Digging my feet into the bricks that made up the wall, I began climbing. Alphonse tried to pull me up but he wasn't strong enough; his grip made it hard to balance and I was losing focus. The approaching train honked its ear-piercing whistle signalling for us to move as it was much too late for it to break. My world went black.

I woke the next day to the distasteful smell of a hospital; I always hated that hygienic smell of disinfectant and the suffocating air of depression that blanketed the entire building. My nose wrinkled at the smell of the cleaning products, the unpleasant aroma sinking right through my pores. Ignoring the distant moaning and groaning in the background, I opened my eyes.

At first I thought the bright LED lights above my head were what people call the 'ghost light', embodying that the incessant yet reassuring beep of the machine beside me could possibly end at any given moment. I glanced around the room before squeezing my eyes shut and recoiling from the blinding sun through the transparent curtains. Once the nurse was cognizant that I was awake, she had disclosed that I was handed over before dusk, immersed in thick, rich blood.

"Your arm was severely marred and disfigured; was barely attached. Once we rushed you to the ER for operation, the surgeons struggled but managed to stop the relentless bleeding. Thank the stars we were able to save you, you died twice."

I barely registered what she had said to me. I died twice? Once her words sank into me, my head, which still felt like lead on my shoulders, slowly descended to my lap. I didn't believe her. I _wouldn't_. The sheet that was draped to my waist which shaped and outlined my legs deceived me at first. Only then did I realise that I was missing part of my limb. The stump that ended just above my knee was a horrific sight. However I could not fathom why it was not there. I was always there, it's _supposed_ to be there. So why wasn't it?

My arm reached out to caress the counterfoil- only that my arm which I willed to move, hadn't followed. My eyes trailed to my shoulder and what I found was nothing; no fingers, no wrist and no elbow. _Nothing_. An involuntary giggle escaped my lips as my brain failed to grasp what I had just seen. My body erupted into a merciless fit of laughter and soon my throat began to hurt. I was in denial. Surely this was just the drugs the nurse had told me about. My logic was soon proved false and I spent the remainder of my days in a wheelchair; spoon-fed and incapable of performing even the simplest of tasks like changing or bathing. I was so apathetic and lethargic. I felt colourless. Hollow even. After what felt like a lifetime to a five year old, I went through the automail surgery without much convincing. I agreed to practically anything, not having a self-reliant bone in my body left.

Now at the age of a grown seventeen years, I have had automail for more than half my life. And ever since, it seemed that misery was all I knew. It was always looking for me, snuffing me out like a truffle hog. For a while, I believed that was all I was capable of; running from people and constantly telling myself that smiling didn't look good on me, let alone happiness of any kind. There were a handful of people who I became somewhat close to. Roy was the first to approach me when I moved to Central, his supporters not far behind. The friendship bloomed and he became a fatherly figure. I supposed it was because I never really had a father growing up, at least that was what I thought. He was tough but he certainly did care.

Riza was his right hand and was more loyal than any dog could ever be. I soon met Jean and the new exchange student, Ling not long after that. I still couldn't help but feel the bitter pang of remorse that I could have had Alphonse's blood on my hands. I didn't feel I deserved his kindness, his love, but Winry had assured me that wasn't the case. She was always doing that- telling me, _ensuring_ that I knew what I thought was completely and utterly untrue. Winry had a knack for telling people what they needed to hear, even if they thought they didn't want it. She was beautiful not only on the outside but on the inside. I take immense care in my decisions, careful not to compromise or endanger those I love, but I have to say; the best decision I ever made was letting Winry in. Thanks to her, every teaching she has given me now holds a special and proud place in my soul. She taught me to keep on keeping on; that character cannot be strengthened by silence and that the world won't stop spinning just because you stand still.

So this is where I stand- eye's fixed on a now cantankerous and impatient blonde. Her eyebrows channelled together to emphasise her point of being angry. I knew by now that she wasn't going to give up- she _would_ have my answer, whether I liked it or not. Every expression that stretched across her radiant face- whether she was happy, angry, disappointed or proud of me, she would always bring me closer without me knowing. Her smile… oh god, her smile. It made me forget everything. That beaming grin she gave to just about everyone made me overlook and neglect what hating myself felt like.

Winry's eyebrows raised up and she gently shook her head- her silent way of telling me she was waiting. Her patience was wearing thin and by the looks of it she was about to give up. Sighing loudly in both frustration and disappointment at her adversity to take control of the situation, her shoulders slacked. Next came an involuntary gasp from her pink, delicate lips as mine collided with hers. I had no idea what I was doing; I didn't even know why I did it. She seemed just as surprised as I was, her shoulders that were once slumped, now craned upwards in surprise. Winry's eyes were frozen, much like a deer in the headlights. Her sunlight-lemon hued hair which juxtaposed against her eyes seemed to only brighten them.

My senses escalated tenfold and all at once I could smell, touch, hear and taste her. I didn't need to see her to know what we looked like- the vivid reverie running through my mind told me enough. Her hair smelled of a frangipani concoction, her perfume of lavender. Aside from Winry's nose pressed against the flesh of my cheek I could feel the light goosebumps over her smooth, fair skin as my fingers caressed upwards in an affable manor to remove the spatula residing in her hand.

With no resistance, she permitted me to grab the kitchen utensil before dropping it carelessly to the floor beside me. Winry belatedly flutters her eyes closed, her shock seeming to deteriorate. My hand that once held the cooking instrument and the one placed on the counter behind her had relocated to the swell of her hips. We both knew we were in too deep and far past the point of returning. I recognised Winry's hands slide their way around my shoulders and behind my neck, embracing me just as affectionately. She kissed me back with such passion that I was sure to run out of breath. Fraternizing with this woman was claiming to be a difficult task. I was confident that she was accepting of this- why else would she endure? If she wasn't okay with our little… _activity in the works_ , she would push away, right? I'll admit that when I first found my lips on her own soft ones I half expected her to push me away and back away into the corner like a frightened wild animal, spitting words of rejection and how she never saw me like that.

When she pulled back due to lack of air, I was almost lost in those eyes. Her sapphire irises looked up at me with hooded eyelids and an emotion I couldn't name. I noticed her eyes were glistening, sparkling even. My eyes zipped back and forth between hers while I clung to the hope that I would never lose that expression. Damn was she beautiful. I don't know what she did but I'm addicted. Addicted like an alcoholic is to that quenching, yet toxic concoction; a satisfying temporary happy pill and problem solver that we all know is wrong and can be potentially lethal, but I _wanted_ it. I wanted her, even if she killed me.

Each held our own gaze at another and we caught our breath. Winry blinked a few times before leading her eyes downwards in order to avoid mine. Her cheeks and the tops of her ears appeared to be dusted with a red hue- whether it from the kiss, the newly discovered heat in the room or embarrassment, I didn't know. I was just happy she hadn't apologised or cried. A single syllabled laugh exhaled her lips and she tried to- what I guessed was- take control of the situation like she always does. After what felt like a lifetime, she looked back at me, an unforgettable shy smile plastered across her lips.

"Umm…" she began, obviously not knowing what to say.

That's a good reaction, right? We want to women to be speechless after something like that…? I don't know about her, but on the inside, I'm _screaming._ My eyes never left Winry's for a second. It was then that I knew what it was- that sensation that gnawed and chewed deep within my stomach. It wasn't love; that I was certain of. No teenager could even begin to describe what love feels like, even remotely. We're just too naïve and selfish. I didn't love her, but it was somewhat close. I cared for her, craved her. I knew what it was I just couldn't label it.

"Edward would you- can you tell me- was that really-"

Of course she was going to address the elephant in the room; ' _can you explain to me why our faces did the do?'_ Winry only had one question yet she was struggling to come out with it. The existing problem is that I don't know. I can't just say to her ' _Oh, well, it's funny you asked because I don't know that myself'._ She'll just brand me as a pervert of some kind. After a subtle exhale and a fidget with her fingers from the blonde, I prepared myself. She's biting her lip, a sure sign of nervousness. This was it, she was going to break it to me that what I did should never have happened.

Winry looked up from her hands and leant forward to plant an ever-so-gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth. Well. Shit. My eyes searched her face for a sign, any indication that she was lying to me. Fortunately, I found nothing. Nothing but a sincere and earnest smile.

"Edward," she said gently, as if she were whispering.

I mustn't have said anything because when she called for me again, a little louder this time, I hummed to embody that I had in fact heard her. She was still smiling; her beautiful smile that brightens her eyes, a carbon copy of a clear sky on a summer day. It was unbeknownst that I was in fact keeping her from cooking our long forgotten breakfast. It must have shown on my face because Winry laughed at me. Clearing my throat and waving for her to continue, I backed out of the kitchen. Winry turned and retrieved the spatula from the tiled floor before wiping it. With her complete attention now on our bubbling batter, I admired. She looks and acts so natural around me. No hesitance, no façade, just pure emotions and reactions.

Just Winry.

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 **A/N:** Thank you so, so, so, _so_ much for reading guys. It really does make writers feel better when people read their pieces (and rate/review) - this is true also :)


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